Comfort
by blissfulconfusion
Summary: Ficlet. Marco needs comfort after his coming out didn't go as he'd hoped. He ends up at the door of the one person he never thought he'd want to see again. Slash.


Marco didn't know how he ended up there. The last thing he remembered was the fight. His dad yelling, screaming at him. The force and hate of the words had hurt him more then fists ever could have. He remembered shouting something back, but the last few minutes had gone fuzzy and he couldn't recall what he'd finally said. Then he left.

He walked straight out the door slamming it behind him. It wasn't until the cool night air hit him that the tears came. His chest ached with anger, and his body shook with pent up frustration. It was then that his mind, clouded by the events of the evening, shut down and his body began moving on its own accord. He was on autopilot. He hopped a bus and rode it down the familiar streets without knowing what he was doing. His kept replaying over and over what had happened.

He'd come home after a good long talk with his best friends confident knowing tonight was the night. He was finally going to tell his father that he was gay. His mother had known for a while now. Marco felt that his dad should know, that his dad should know who his son was. However the second the words came out of his mouth, Marco had known it wasn't time, but it was too late. His father's face turned red and then came the yelling. It hurt more then Marco ever thought it could. His own father didn't understand, couldn't accept him because he loved men and not women.

Marco had sat on the bus staring out the grimy, scratched up windows looking but seeing nothing. He didn't even remember signaling the driver to stop, but he must have because he was no longer sitting on the bus--he was standing in front of a familiar door.

He reached up and knocked loudly. It felt like he'd stood there for hours before the door opened.

"Marco?" Marco looked up in the blue eyes of his ex. "Marco, are you okay? Have you been crying?" Marco could see the concern on Dylan's face but when he opened his mouth to explain, nothing would come out. He looked down at his arm when he felt Dylan's hand grasp him and allowed himself to be pulled into the dorm.

Marco stood looking at the room that he'd helped decorate. It looked the same as the last time he'd been there, but now it was completely foreign. He hadn't visited Dylan in months, not after the party. It was too painful.

"Marco, what's going on?" Dylan's voice soothed Marco in a way he knew only Dylan could. He loved Dylan, but he still didn't forgive him. However, at that moment, none of the past bullshit really mattered. Marco was hurting and he needed to be comforted.

Without looking at Dylan, Marco finally spoke. "I told my father."

A sympathetic sigh was heard. "I'm guessing he didn't take it very well."

"That would be an understatement," Marco scoffed.

"Marco..." Dylan began, but Marco cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Save it Dylan. Words won't make me feel any better."

"Then why have you come here?"

Marco looked up through his eyelashes at Dylan.

"Marco?"

Marco knew it was written all over face and he really didn't care. Before Dylan could say anything else, Marco kissed him, pouring out all his frustrations and anger, biting hard on Dylan's lip. Right before Dylan pushed him away, Marco thought he tasted blood.

"Marco, what the hell are you doing?" Dylan wiped his mouth and a streak of red smeared across his hand.

Marco opened his mouth to speak, but paused. It had been instinct that had brought him to Dylan's, a feeling of comfort and acceptance. He was feeling thrown aside and he needed to know someone still loved him. He needed to just feel.

"Marco?"

"Dylan, I need..." Marco pawed at Dylan's shirt and tried to kiss him again, but Dylan held him back.

"No Marco, no. You aren't thinking clearly. This isn't what you need. Right now you need a friend, not a fuck."

"But..."

"Marco, no. You are in a fragile emotional state. You don't know what you are doing, and I'm not going to take advantage of that. You need someone to talk to, someone to help you through the events that occurred between you and your father. I can do that, but I'm not going to sleep with you."

As Dylan spoke, Marco's anger soared. How dare Dylan assume he knew what Marco needed?

"How dare you, Dylan? Save your amateur psychobabble bullshit for someone who cares. I came here because... because..." As quickly as it flooded into him, the anger flowed out just as quickly. Tears welled up into his eyes, and Marco crumpled to the floor.

Marco knew he was right. This wasn't the way to deal with everything. It could only hurt him in the long run.

He felt Dylan's arms wrap around his still shaking form and lift him into his arms. Dylan set him on his small dorm bed.

"Go to sleep Marco," he said softly. "I don't have class tomorrow and we'll talk when you've had some rest. Okay?"

Marco nodded and knowing there was nothing else he could do, closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep willing find the past night's events to have been only a terrible dream when he woke.


End file.
